A Compilation of Short Stories
by Heart of a Hurricane
Summary: As stated in the title, this book is merely a compilation of short stories I made up in my free time. A few of these may be possible excerpts of stories I intend to publish on FanFiction in the future.
1. One

div style="line-height: 24.48px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.4px; text-align: center; background-color: #fefefe;"span style="line-height: 1.7em; font-size: 11pt;"span style="line-height: 1.7em; font-family: 'times new roman';"strong style="line-height: 1.7em; display: inline; padding-bottom: 0.7em; padding-top: 0.7em;"[POSSIBLE EXCERPT; SPOILER ALERT; READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!]/strong/span/spanbr style="line-height: 1.7em;" / /div  
div style="line-height: 24.48px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.4px; background-color: #fefefe;"span style="line-height: 1.7em; font-size: 11pt;"span style="line-height: 1.7em; font-family: 'times new roman';"The sound of a branch cracking brings me back to my senses. Quick as a fox, I dart behind a tree, the knives I snatched from the Cornucopia grasped in my sweaty style="line-height: 1.7em;" / br style="line-height: 1.7em;" /An owl hoots. Mud style="line-height: 1.7em;" / br style="line-height: 1.7em;" /Her figure is silhouetted against the moonbeams and I let out a battle cry as I leap onto the girl before stabbing her repeatedly in the style="line-height: 1.7em;" / br style="line-height: 1.7em;" /As the clouds clear from the moon, I can see her mud-streaked, blood-streaked face illuminated. Hatred courses through me, deeper than anything I've ever felt as I recognize her. And judging by her sudden expression of fear, I know she's realized who I style="line-height: 1.7em;" / br style="line-height: 1.7em;" /It's the girl from District style="line-height: 1.7em;" / br style="line-height: 1.7em;" /"You," I snarl quietly, pressing my knife deep into her torso so she won't try escaping. My other knife is held above her left eye. "You killed my brother."br style="line-height: 1.7em;" / br style="line-height: 1.7em;" /"I-" she begins, but I cut her off and run the blades of the knives down every inch of flesh and skin I can find. The metallic smell of blood reaches my nose, but I don't care. My brother. My twin brother. I need to avenge style="line-height: 1.7em;" / br style="line-height: 1.7em;" /"Sequil- Sequil, stop! She's dead."br style="line-height: 1.7em;" / br style="line-height: 1.7em;" /I stop, recognizing the sound of the District Nine boy. My style="line-height: 1.7em;" / br style="line-height: 1.7em;" /Staring at the Two girl's limp, motionless body, limbs akimbo, I'm filled with horror and shock. The scent of her blood fills my nose, and her chest is unmoving. Her body is streaked with mud as well, and the mixture of mud and blood is not very style="line-height: 1.7em;" / br style="line-height: 1.7em;" /Gingerly, I reach out to touch her shoulder, suddenly wishing that I hadn't been so impulsive as to attack her just like that. em style="line-height: 1.7em;"Don't be dead. Don't be dead,/em I'm hoping fervently, but as anticipated, her arm is cold to the touch. Her earlier zeal, fear, horror, shock – it's all gone. Her hazel colored eyes are blank and style="line-height: 1.7em;" / br style="line-height: 1.7em;" /And I sink back onto my knees, into the mud, my head against his masculine body. He smells just like my style="line-height: 1.7em;" / br style="line-height: 1.7em;" /And as the few thousand emotions flow through my veins, a burst of terror tells my brain something. Something I'd wished I never would have to style="line-height: 1.7em;" / br style="line-height: 1.7em;" /em style="line-height: 1.7em;"You just killed someone./embr style="line-height: 1.7em;" /br style="line-height: 1.7em;" /- Possible excerpt from [insert title of solo THG fanfic which I will not reveal]/span/span/div 


	2. Two

**[TRIGGER WARNING]**

Death.

Even the word itself sounds tempting. Like underneath it is a beautiful place where you can't feel pain.

But happiness wouldn't exist if it weren't for pain, I tell myself. No, that wasn't right. That's not what I told myself, it's what that little voice inside my head told me.

The other voice argues fiercely, like a lioness defending her cubs, but more vicious, more cruel, more sadistic, if there was even a _hint_ of sadism in my comparison. It tells me that I'm useless, that I'm a waste of space. Everything that they told me.

These two voices fight hard inside my head, one telling me that it was worth living for, the other telling me that I should die. And I'm nothing more than the thing they're fighting over, the helpless passerby, the one who's sinking down onto her knees before burying her face in her hands.

I've always been a pessimist, so I listen to the negativity.

 _Die. Yes, you. Since when have you ever contributed? Since when have you ever done well, done anyone proud?_ It's just repeating what I've been hearing my entire life. It should be familiar, the words. They shouldn't reopen the half-healed wound on my patched-up heart, they should just bounce off the protective layers and sit there wondering why.

But no, they don't, they reopen that wound. The one that was lazily stitched up, the one that can be opened up again with just one careless move. Or in this case, word. Phrase.

Tears blur my vision of the once pale blue sky, transforming it into a dark, cloudy sky.

Maybe they're all right.

 _Weakling._

Oh, now you're discouraging me?

No, I realize. It's that voice, the one discouraging me from dying. It called me a weakling. A coward. I remember my friend's disappointed words ringing in my head, her miserable look flashing across my eyes once more. Her dark hair tangled. A wild look in her eyes. Her hands clenched into fists, like she was holding on to something that could slip away so quickly, something so fragile she could never let it go.

" _You can't go. You have to win this battle. For me; for them. For you. For us. You can't give up now, Claire. You still have a long way to go, and you're the kind who wouldn't ever let a stupid careless b*tch take that away from you." Her brown eyes shine with tears. "What happened to that Claire, the one who would beat up an *sshole half a foot taller than her for the sake of her friends? Why is it that she'd do it for her friends but not her?"_

 _And I told her that it was because I was nothing, just a coward, someone who relied on others._

 _So she told me, "Then do it for me. For them. For you. For us. For everyone who cares about you, and everyone whom you care about."_

 _And I dived into her open arms, my salty tears soaking the side of her jacket as she wept along with me. A tight embrace in the midst of a broken world. But one of value, true value, and I wouldn't let it go to waste. I never would._


	3. Three

A friend is someone who's there for you in times of need, they say. Someone who talks to you, rants to you.

But I don't feel like she's my friend. No matter how much I try telling myself. One can lie to others, but you can't fool yourself. _I_ can't fool _myself_.

And it's stupid. My disloyalty towards her. My constant dark thoughts surrounding her. My tears, more often than not, caused by her. It's been a year, almost two, and I still can't figure out who she is.

What is she doing, really? What is she trying to do with me? What does she see me as? Those questions are the only ones I think about before I go to sleep at night, every night. There's an aura of fear surrounding those questions; I know it. And I'm scared. I don't want her to know about my feelings, my doubts, my questions. Me.

I don't want her to know. I don't want anything to happen.

This isn't true friendship, I've realized that a long time ago.

I'm just scared. Afraid. Frightened. After months of being by her side, sticking by her, I know how vicious she can be. How cruel, how ruthless, how manipulative she can get. I've realized, I was just sticking by her side for her defense. The protection, the help she can provide me with. But look where that got me?

Onto Neptune, that's where. Cold and unforgiving weather. Mysteries surrounding it.

Well, I've gone and done it. Told her she was selfish. Yelled at her for being an insensitive prick.

She's gone and done it. Struck me where it hurts most.

My friends.

My family.

My life.

And I can't stop the tears from flowing, I can't, I can't. Because right now, all I want, all I want is the defense and help and protection she's given me.

But I stop. And I think.

And I forgive, and I forget.

But I'm not going to let it go, not that easily.

I'll have to wait and see.

See if she's the friend I've been searching for my entire life.

Thinking. Lost in the whirlwind of thoughts. So lost that I didn't hear the operator calling my name. My turn to get onto that rollercoaster.

As I strap myself into the carriage, I continue musing.

Or maybe, just maybe, it's that girl. An image of her swims into my head.

That girl with the dark curls, the one with the laughing brown eyes. The short one who lingers around, or rather, used to, when we were talking.

Maybe it's her.

Perhaps.

Possibly.

And I smile, and I laugh, and I grasp onto the pole and let my lungs burn as I part my jaws wide open, allowing the air to enter and make its way down to my lungs. Exhilaration, adrenaline rushes through me.

And I scream with joy.

I'm happy. I'm not frightened. I'm filled with joy, I'm weightless, flying.

I'm free.

Maybe it's just temporary, the feeling. But this feeling of freedom, this rush of adrenaline - it's just what I need. I wanted that. I needed that.

No longer scared.

I'm me. I can't be anyone else.

I'm me.

Free.

Light.

Weightless.

Silent.

 _Me._

 _Just me._


End file.
